


Thunderclap from a Clear Sky

by Almost_Star_Struck



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Biracial McCree, Desert Sunsets, Emotionally Stunted Middle Age Men, Gen, Hanzo becomes a Cowboy, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, lots of Spanish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-17 14:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8147254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Almost_Star_Struck/pseuds/Almost_Star_Struck
Summary: The ghost-like Reaper has been repeatedly sighted along the Mexican-American border. Teams have been sent to stake out various cities in an effort to catch the elusive Talon Agent.Hanzo isn't unfamiliar with chasing ghosts of the past but he's never done it while wearing spurs.EDIT: Currently on Hiatus. Not Betaed.





	1. El verdadero hogar es donde uno tiene a los suyos.

**Author's Note:**

> The song used was "A la puerta del cielo" and it's best known as a children's lullaby.

It was nearly 1AM and he couldn't sleep. Maybe it was because he was in an unfamiliar environment (surrounded by professional soldiers and killers), maybe it was because the cot he had been allotted was far too comfortable after so many years of running. 

Hanzo sighed and rolled off the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. He really should not be surprised by now...he had not had a good night's sleep in over ten years. The few times he was able to sleep left him with visions of a bloodied katana, the blade chipped from where it had split Genji in half on the rocks of the Shimada courtyard. The smell of sakura blossoms and copper had created such a nauseating combination. 

Tea...he needed _tea._  

He stood and grabbed his hakama, pulling them on over his prosthetics. Would the kitchen even be open or was he allowed to go in and out freely? He shook his head, tying his kyudo-gi closed. He did not require permission from any of these people. 

The hallways were quiet and devoid of anything beyond the safety lines that lined the base of the walls. Most of the team had long since gone to bed. Only the Korean girl (Hana?) and Tracer were awake, watching some Drama in the rec room. Neither of them noticed as he passed them by, another lone shadow in the night.

The kitchen was dark, but the lights flickered on as soon as he set a single foot on the tile. Shielding his eyes, he grunted and headed to the electric kettle by the stove.

While the water boiled, he dug through the cabinets. Coffee, coffee...soup mixes. He furrowed his brow, pulling out some black English tea. _Too much caffeine._ He sighed and dug in further, managing to find some chamomile. Not ideal, but at least it would settle his stomach. Taking a mug imprinted with a colorful frogs, he unfurled the tea bag and waited for the kettle.

His eyes were drawn to the bay windows and he crossed his arms over his chest, approaching them and opening the blinds. He inhaled sharply, noting how clear the sky was, cloudless and expanding across a seemingly endless field. How long had it been since he had been far away from a city? Where he could clearly see the night?

Hanzo took the kettle off the burner base before the water could boil and poured his cup, enjoying the warmth that settled into the palms of his hands. He turned back to stare out the windows for another minute as the tea steeped. 

It was easy enough to find an elevator to the roof and he stepped inside, dragging a hand down the side of his face as he held his tea. He was exhausted, but there was no taming his body's habits. Perhaps the fresh air would ease his body into unconsciousness. 

The doors slid open and he stepped out slowly. The sight that greeted him was nearly enough to take his breath away. The stars were so bright, scattered across the sky like sakura petals on the river. 

Genji had said that Nepal was like this every night, so far removed from the dense and brightly lit cities of Nihon.

_"I will take you someday, brother. We will go together."_

Hanzo walked to the railing, staring out across the desert that seemed to occupy a completely different world than the desolate hills they had seen earlier in the afternoon. He had been to America several times in his youth, but the desert in all its dry harshness had never appealed. Seeing it at night, he could appreciate how beautifully still the air was. The way that the tall cacti created solemn silhouettes in the moonlight while the mountains cradling valley hills in a gentle sweeping embrace.

As the cool night breeze washed over him, it carried to his ear the low hum of a guitar. He glanced around in confusion, seeing no one else on the roof. 

_"A la puerta del cielo venden zapatos...Para los angelitos que andan descalzos-"_

A deep voice accompanied the guitar now, familiar and yet foreign. Hanzo followed the singing, his steps quiet as he bent over the rail above the deck. _"Duérmete, niño, duérmete, niño,-"_ a pause as the fingers fumbled over the chords. The sound of a throat clearing. _"Duermete, niño, arru, arru."_

With one arm, Hanzo managed to lower himself to the deck via a window ledge. His cup of tea sloshed, but didn't spill as he landed in a crouch. Slowly, he peeked around the corner, brown eyes narrowing as he recognized the figure even in the dim half-moonlight. 

McCree exhaled, adjusting an old acoustic guitar against his broad chest as he leaned back to the wall. His metal hand held the neck of the instrument while the real one strummed to the tune. _"A los niños que duerman Dios benedice..."_ He paused again, still thumbing the chord over and over as if he was trying to remember the words. Finally he finished with, _"A las madres que velan Dios las asiste."_

He continued playing the guitar to the same tune, gentle and light like the soft-wash of the moon overhead. Eventually his fingers slowed and then stopped, pressing to the flat plane of the instrument. "Y'all gonna stand in the dark all night?" the cowboy asked, seemingly to himself.

Hanzo blinked and then froze in place as McCree turned to look his way. "I won't bite, Shimada. Promise." He gave the archer a disarming smile and patted the chair beside him. Slowly, Hanzo stepped out, sweeping back his bangs as he held his cup to his chest.

"How did you know?" he asked, taking a seat. McCree chuckled and gestured to Hanzo's wolf-tail.

"Your scarf kinda flutters when the wind whips up. Makes this little flapping noise." He mimicked the motion with his metal hand as Hanzo took a sip of his tea. "So lemme guess, insomnia?" McCree yawned, stretching out as he set the guitar on the ground next to him. 

Hanzo shrugged, tapping the side of the cup with his index finger. "This is all very new to me." He looked out at the desert, unfamiliar and silent. "But I imagine that you feel very much at home." McCree chuckled, drawing his attention back to the American. 

"Yeah, I mean, _kinda._ I'm from Santa Fe...but I've blown through Nogales enough times to lose count." He tipped his hat back and stared out at the valley. "Kinda got here at a shitty time though. Monsoon season is gonna be starting soon." He gestured out to the cacti in the distance. "The Saguaros are starting to fruit." 

Hanzo pursed his lips. "I did not know cactus had anything other than spines," he said as McCree shifted to pick up the guitar up from the ground. "You did not need to stop playing on my account." 

"Nah, I was done..." McCree lied, cracking his spine as he straightened, pushing off the wall. "You have a good night, Shimada." He tipped his hat and turned to head back inside. 

Hanzo stood as well, cupping his tea with both hands. "What were you singing?" he asked, catching McCree just as the cowboy opened the door. 

McCree snorted. "A song," he said flatly, shaking his head.

Rolling his eyes, Hanzo muttered, "Do not act dumb with me." 

"I ain't _actin'_ , Shimada," McCree said with a grin. It was a distraction, deflecting his attention from the answer. Sighing, Hanzo shook his head and waved him off. He did not have the will to play such games. McCree just nodded and headed back inside, his spurs jangling with each step until they faded completely.

Hanzo closed the door and turned back to the expanse of desert in front of him. Raising his cup, he tipped the now lukewarm liquid into his mouth and finished his tea.

In the absence of the guitar, he hummed the tune, swaying slightly to the music. 


	2. Los mirones son de piedra.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song used is "Cielito Lindo". Gorgeous music :D

The next night, Hanzo didn't bother to try going to bed. He made his tea and went straight to the deck. Glancing around revealed no sign of the gunslinging cowboy so he dragged a chair from the table to the railing. The moon had not yet risen over the mountains and the stars were not bright enough to light the valley, but the quiet of the evening was nonetheless calming. He took a sip from his cup and closed his eyes, feeling the wind whip his scarf over his shoulder. 

Behind him, the door opened and he heard the clink of metal spurs before the footsteps abruptly stopped. Hearing the cowboy turn on his heel Hanzo inclined his head to the side. "Were you going to play again?"

There was a moment of silence before the other man chuckled. Hanzo heard the door creak as McCree leaned against it. "Yeah. Didn't think anyone'd be out here. I'll just be goin'-"

"Do not leave on my account," Hanzo insisted, opening his eyes and turning to look at Jesse. The cowboy glanced from the door to the guitar in his hands. 

"I ain't gonna be quiet, Shimada," McCree warned, easing the door closed as he stepped out onto the deck. He paused, inhaling the dry night air. "Kinda the point of goin' outside in the first place." He sat at the edge of the table and then scooted back let his long legs dangle behind the archer.

Hanzo looked over the instrument and then back to McCree. Against the desert backdrop, he looked so natural, a cowboy locked in the time sink that was the American Southwest. "Do you have any cigarettes?" he found himself asking. 

Jesse blinked, looking taken aback. "Thought you didn't smoke?" he said, pulling out his cigarillos along with his metal lighter. He handed both to Hanzo and watched as the archer lit up the end of one, puffing softly. Hanzo tilted his head back, exposing the long column of his throat to the sky as he breathed out a plume of smoke through his nostrils. 

"I quit," he corrected, taking another puff as he handed the lighter back to McCree. "Are you going to play?"

The cowboy snorted, tuning his guitar and strumming it to test the sound. "Just don't be expectin' something better than amateur hour." He grinned and Hanzo smiled softly, puffing on the cigarillo. His tea sat forgotten on his lap. 

Jesse inhaled, his gaze sliding over the fields of saguaro as he picked up the low tune.

 _"De la Sierra Morena, celito lindo, vienen bajando. Un par de ojitos negros, cielito lindo, de contrabando."_  His deep voice was so foreign in Spanish, tracing over the words with practiced ease. It made Hanzo wonder if English was actually McCree's second language or if he had grown up speaking both. Jesse inhaled again, _"Ay, ay, ay, ay, canta y no llores. Porque cantando se alegran, cielito lindo, los corazones."_

His brown eyes flickered to Hanzo and the archer found himself unable to look away as the other man continue to sing the words to a song he didn't know in a language he didn't speak.

_"Ese lunar que tienes, cielito lindo, junto a la boca. No se lo des a nadie, cielito lindo, que a mí me toca."_

The guitar seemed almost muted compared to McCree's voice even when the other man missed a note or his timing was thrown off. Hanzo tapped the ash off the end of the cigarillo, watching the other man's fingers move across the strings in tandem with his voice. 

_"Una flecha en el aire, cielito lindo, lanzó Cupido. Una flecha en el aire, cielito lindo, que a mí me ha herido...."_ he finished with a final tick to the strings, exhaling and relaxing his posture. "Man I am fuckin' rusty," he laughed, his entire demeanor going back to the fun-loving gunslinger who played video games with kids half his age and drank whiskey like it was going out of style. 

Hanzo released a breath he had only just realized he had been holding and moved his cold tea onto the table. "Why do you not join the others for karaoke nights? You sing well enough." Hanzo had been invited every week since he had joined the team, but he had respectfully declined each and every time. Besides, he could hear Reinhardt belting out _Moskau_  from anywhere on the ship. He hardly needed to be present.

McCree shrugged, "Don't really like to make a show of it." He lazily played a tune, but didn't sing, just stared out as the moon rose over the ridges. In the distance, Hanzo could hear wild dogs howling. "Coyotes," McCree explained. "We'll be hearing that as long as we're out here." 

"Are they wolves?" Hanzo asked, his gaze shifting back and forth across the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of one. He brushed the ash off the cigarillo and then offered it to McCree. The cowboy smiled and stopped playing.

Lifting the cigarillo to his lips, he took a few short puffs, the end glowing orange in the dark. "Nah, but they're close. You don't have to worry about 'em. Javelinas and mountain lions are way worse."

_"Ha-va...lina?"_ Hanzo repeated. 

"It's like a boar." McCree put down his guitar and pulled out his phone. He flipped the screen and showed a small looking animal with several brown striped young. "They don't like it if you get too close. One of the Deadlock runners used to try and set traps for 'em when we passed through the territory. Lost half his fingers when one of the males bit him." 

Hanzo winced and returned the phone. "I have never spent time out in the desert. It is very...different from home." 

"I heard it gets pretty hot during the summers in Japan," Jesse said, pocketing the device. "Main difference is y'all are dealing with humidity." He chuckled, "Dry heat's the way to go." 

That was true...the heat here was pleasant. Warm, but without the stifling stickiness that clung to the air. "How long are we going to be stationed here?" Hanzo asked, listening to the not-wolves howl to the moon. 

"Reckon we'll ditch the Southwestern Watchpoint whenever we pick up the Reaper's trail again," McCree stubbed out the cigarillo. "Supposedly he was spotted along the border so that's where we're squattin', hoping to catch a ghost." He laughed and added, "Someone should tell Jack that death is the Reaper who doesn't take a _siesta._ "

Hanzo leaned back in his seat. "Why is Morrison so obsessed with this...Reaper? Besides him posing a significant threat to Overwatch." He watched as Jesse played with his lighter, flicking the wheel back and forth. "Morrison's drive to catch this agent seems personal."

McCree laughed. "That's cuz it _is_." At Hanzo's confused expression, he said, "Jack suspects that the Reaper might be one of ours. Like Amélie." He exhaled and put the lighter down, clasping his hands together between his spread knees. "In my opinion, it's a bunch of hogwash."

"Then Morrison must believe we can save him. He would not bother with a lost cause." Hanzo swallowed. "Or what he _thought_ was a lost cause."

Snorting, the cowboy lifted the brim of his hat, looking over Hanzo, "Think Jack might have a skewed sense for what is or ain't a lost cause." He gestured between the two of them, "Disowned Yakuza and an old hat with a beer gut and a six-shooter. Least you're a good shot." He pointed a finger gun at Hanzo and "fired", making a pew noise.

Hanzo snorted and pulled the gourd of sake from his hip. With his tea cold and no particular desire to go back inside, he had to replace his drink somehow. He took a swig and then offered it to McCree. The cowboy smiled and accepted it. "Thank you kindly," he said, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Either way, I doubt we'll catch him. The Reaper's a literal ghost. Even if we get him, how're we supposed to hold 'im?" 

"Something to be brought to Morrison's attention then," Hanzo said, taking the gourd back. He stared out at the saguaros, so foreign and yet not after watching so many American Westerns. "I suppose if we are going to be staying in the desert for a long time I should invest in more appropriate clothing."

"Gonna get yourself some spurs, pardner'?" Jesse asked with a grin. "I know a fella who could hook you up."

"I meant lighter fabrics, something with muted colors. I cannot blend into a desert wearing blue." He plucked at the sleeve of his kyudo-gi and then looked to Jesse. "How do you not overheat in your body armor and those jeans?"

McCree shrugged, tugging at the edge of his red serape with his mechanical hand. "I'm used to it. When you grow up wearing chaps, you don't really think nothin' of it."

"Are they not assless chaps?" Hanzo asked with a raised brow, looking the other man over. 

Grinning, McCree said, "Shimada, Imma let you in on a lil' secret." He leaned in, still smirking. "Chaps by definition are _assless_." Hanzo raised an eyebrow and the cowboy just laughed, slapping his knee. "Lemme guess, the only chaps you've ever seen are like the sex-shop stuff, right?"

Ok, while that was _true,_ he wasn't going to admit that. "I doubt I will require chaps here," he said, "Can your friend get me some more casual clothing?"

McCree nodded and slid off the table, taking his guitar. "Course. Everyone will probably need a gear update while we're in this heat. Until the rains hit, it's gonna be hotter than sin out there." He gestured to the open valley and sighed, taking a deep breath. "Anyway, I should head in before the owls come on out." He tipped his hat. "Be seein' you, Shimada."

Hanzo nodded in return, watching as the cowboy shuffled back to the door and went back inside. He stayed for a few moments before he stood, cracking his back as he picked up the cup of untouched tea. 

Behind him the coyotes had fallen silent, leaving the only sounds that whipped across the desert that of the wind scattering sand over the ship. 


	3. A beber y a tragar, que el mundo se va a acabar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get into the actual plot now. Please bear with me.

Sleep had eluded him for another night, even as the calming Spanish tunes had lulled him in and out of focus. 

Rolling out of bed, Hanzo exhaled and dragged a hand up his cheek, pinching his brows and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It was barely 5:30 AM, but there was no sense in sitting in bed and staring at the ceiling. He cracked his neck and headed to the bathroom, washing his face and checking the line of stubble that threatened to ruin the neat cut of his facial hair. Out of habit, he shaved it off, rinsing the razor in the sink. 

The halls were quiet as he left his room. No one roused this early unless a mission was afoot and ever since they landed in the long abandoned Sonoran Watchpoint three nights ago, there had been no plans made to attack, infiltrate, or otherwise do anything beyond staking out the area. It was almost as if they were just hoping that the Reaper would come up to the docking bay and knock.

Hanzo snorted at the thought as he entered the kitchen, opening the blinds. The sun was just starting to crest over the horizon, casting long shadows over the cacti-pocked desert. The landscape warped with the light, two sides of the same coin.

"Beautiful sight, isn't it?"

Hanzo flinched and turned. Sitting at the table was the Soldier sans his normal uniform, his blind eyes staring at an empty mug in hand as if he was expecting coffee to manifest itself in front of him. "How can you tell without your visor?" Hanzo asked, unnerved by how the older man was somehow able to escape his notice. 

The Soldier shifted, the scars that crossed his face made harsher by the stark light. "I can feel it." He smiled and then gestured with the cup to Hanzo. "You learn to appreciate every sunrise when you get to be my age." Clearing his throat, he stood, going to the coffee machine and setting his mug under the dispenser. "You drink, Shimada?"

Tea was preferred, but after the sleepless night before, Hanzo just nodded. "Yes." 

The Soldier took another mug out from the upper cabinets, his motions practiced, memorized even after so many years out of the ship. "Cream and sugar?"

"No..."

The Soldier chuckled knowingly and once the first mug was filled, he replaced it with the second, dispensing a second cup. He handed the first one to Hanzo who took it in both hands, letting the warmth loosen the stiff joints of his fingers. He turned back to the window and shielded his eyes from the glare of the unfiltered Arizona sun. Behind him, the Soldier settled back down at the table, sipping his coffee. 

There were no more words exchanged between the two of them for some time, both men just staring out the window, occasionally taking drafts from the mugs in their hands. Bastion had hung a liquid bird-feeder outside and small hummingbirds began to gather around it, dipping their long beaks into the plastic flowers as their iridescent feathers flickered in the sunlight. Hanzo tracked their motions, watching as the birds twitched and changed course so rapidly his eyes could barely follow.

It wasn't until a loud yawn interrupted them that Hanzo realized how long he had been staring out the window, lost in the near silent buzz of tiny beating wings.

"'Scuse me, gents." McCree stretched out his arms behind them and headed straight for the coffee machine, bunny slippers shuffling on the linoleum. It looked like he barely had his eyes open as he fumbled with the machine, having none of the finesse of the Soldier as he grumbled to himself. Hanzo watched him drop four cubes of sugar into his cup, stirring vigorously. The cowboy took a long sip that drained nearly half the cup before setting it back down on the counter with a clack. Groaning, he turned, cracking his back as he yawned again. 

"Morning, McCree," the Soldier said in a quiet voice, his expression tight as he pointedly looked away from the other man. Hanzo raised an eyebrow and watched as Jesse's brown eyes opened, narrowing at the sight of the Soldier.

"Jack..." he returned stiffly, taking his coffee and heading to the outdoor deck with it. The hummingbirds momentarily scattered, but realizing the cowboy had no intention of going near their food source, quickly rerouted back to the feeder. Hanzo raised an eyebrow and watched as the door violently clicked shut behind him, the cowboy settling on one of the chairs and kicking both his long legs up, staring into the sunrise with the brim of his hat tilted to avoid the worst of the glare.

The Soldier exhaled and finished off his own coffee, heading to the sink. "There's going to be a briefing after breakfast. Be prepared," he muttered as he dumped the dregs of his mug. When he left the kitchen, so did most of the tension. Hanzo sighed and looked to the deck, opening the door and following McCree out with his cup in hand. The birds did not take as much offense to him, merely skirting around his body.

McCree turned, glancing up at him from under his hat which really just looked even more absurd than normal without his serape, spurs, and all the rest. "For bein' up so late, you're here awfully early," Jesse said as Hanzo took the seat next to him. He took a sip and tilted his face up into the cloudless morning sky. 

"The same could be said of yourself," Hanzo retorted, watching the hummingbirds next to them. McCree chuckled and mouthed  _"touche"_. "You and 76 do not get along."

McCree snorted. " _Jack,_ " he corrected. "Don't care much for whatever bullshit he's callin' himself now." He shrugged and leaned back in the chair, making the plastic squeak with the shift in weight. "And yeah, can't say I ever liked the guy. Always thought he was too big for his britches." He shook his head and sipped his coffee.

Hanzo frowned and thumbed over the rim of his own cup thoughtfully. One of the birds flew in front of them, hovering in the air a foot away from McCree's face. The cowboy chuckled, "Hey there lil' fella." He raised his hand in greeting, but the bird had already zoomed off, a mere flash of green and purple across the deck. "Well pardon me then."

Snorting, Hanzo took a sip from his mug. "I did not know you rose this early."

McCree shrugged and said, "Old habits. When you're on the run from every bounty-hunter from here to Houston, you learn to get up at first light."

Hanzo nodded. He too had always risen with the sun, even as a child. After Genji was born, his mother remarked on the differences between them as infants. Genji would wake up crying while Hanzo had been silent. Genji would stay up all night and sleep during the day while Hanzo held a regular sleeping schedule.

Genji smiled while Hanzo pouted. 

 _"You have your grandfather's nature,"_  his mother had told him, combing out her hair.  _"It'll make you a great leader and bring good fortune."_  She sighed, leaning in and brushing her hand over his brow. Even so young, he understood what that meant. His grandfather, what little he'd seen of him before he passed, had been a prodigy. He was one of the only members of the Shimada-gumi to have more than one dragon.

He was also the most miserable person Hanzo had ever encountered.

"Sides, I gotta have my cup o' Joe." McCree gestured back to mug and inhaled the scent as if it was pure ambrosia. "Actually kinda surprised to see you with it. Thought tea was more your thing?" 

Hanzo shrugged. "I am not opposed to coffee. I merely drink it sparingly." He exhaled and spread his legs, leaning back more fully into the chair. McCree watched him for a moment before he turned back to the valley. For some time, the two of them just stared out, watching the sun hike its way over the mountain ridges. 

After a while, they began to hear muffled sounds from the kitchen behind them, the clatter of pans, the murmur of voices. McCree turned to grip the back of his chair, staring into the bay windows. "Looks like the gang's gettin' breakfast going. Wanna head in?" he jerked his thumb to indicate the door and Hanzo nodded, pushing his chair from the table and standing with his mug. Jesse stood as well, stepping over and opening the door for him. "After you, Shimada," he said with a playful bow of his head. Hanzo rolled his eyes and stepped inside, instantly assaulted by the smell of pancake batter. 

Breakfast was a lively affair with Lena and Lúcio flipping flapjacks on the skillet while the rest of the team (sans Winston and the Soldier) ate at the table. McCree went back to the coffee machine twice more and stacked his own plate with five pancakes. Hanzo took one and smeared a small amount of butter over the surface. Part of him wanted to douse it in sugar if only for the energy it might provide, but he resisted, instead taking another cup of black coffee back with him.

While everyone was eating, Genji and Zenyatta entered. Hanzo glanced up, nodding to his brother as he went to make tea. Genji returned the gesture and turned away, his gray scarf swishing behind him. Zenyatta went over to Lena, offering assistance with the skillet as she stirred fresh batter in the red plastic mixing bowl. 

Tea made, Genji settled down next to Hanzo and lifted his visor to expose his eyes. It always hurt to see the burns scarring his brother's once handsome face, knowing that he had been the cause, but if Genji could live every day with the marks, Hanzo could handle seeing them.  _"Did you sleep well?"_  Hanzo asked in Japanese, cutting into his pancake. 

Genji nodded.  _"It's very peaceful out here. Not at all rowdy and wild like the movies we used to watch."_  He smiled and took a sip of his tea, one of the few human pleasures that was left to him after being cut in half. 

 _"No cowboys and Indians..."_  Hanzo agreed. 

 _"Well there is **one**  cowboy,"_ Genji snickered, gesturing to McCree who was pouring syrup over his mountain of pancakes while Hana showed him her latest Twitch match on her phone.  _"You look like you have been up all night."_

Hanzo shrugged, shoving a forkful of pancake into his mouth.  _"I haven't slept well in over a decade,"_  he muttered, swallowing. 

 _"You should join us for meditation. It'll help you relax,"_  Genji said, taking another sip of his tea. Hanzo scoffed and shook his head.  _"Brother, give it a chance. Zenyatta knows what he is doing."_

Before Hanzo could reply there was a loud bang and everyone's attention was drawn to the door. The Soldier was leaning against the frame in full uniform, the red light of his visor sweeping over the room as Winston stepped up behind him. Both men wore serious expressions that made all the laughter around them die and the smiles instantly drop. Winston cleared his throat and said, "As you all know, we have stationed the ship along the mid Mexican-American border for the last several days. Now that intel has been gathered on the neighboring cities and border towns, we are going to go ahead with phase two."

The Soldier stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. "Prior to the recall, a Talon Agent known only as the Reaper attempted to infiltrate and steal private documentation on all past and present members of Overwatch. Since then, the Reaper has been spotted several times, primarily keeping to the Southwestern territories of North America." He turned, the visor locking sights with every member. "Four teams of three are going to stand by along the border cities where the most sightings have occurred to snuff out the Reaper's hiding spot."

McCree snorted, crossing his arms over his barrel chest. The Soldier's brow tightened, but he continued. "All agents assigned will be undercover and thus civilian clothes and identities will be assumed. The agents excluded from this mission are as follows-" he exhaled and said, "Shimada, Genji. Zenyatta, Tekhartha. Bastion. Winston. Rutledge, Mako. Lindholm, Torbjörn. Fawkes, Jamison."

"Well that's no fun," Jamison growled, chugging his orange juice and slamming the cup down. "What do you 'spect us to do then, eh? Twiddle our thumbs?"

Winston adjusted his glasses and said, "All agents not assigned to the field will remain stationed on base and work to dismantle smaller scale Talon operations within the area." 

Next to him, Hanzo felt more than heard Genji's sigh. "I suppose we shall be separated for some time then," he said in English, turning to Hanzo. 

"Any questions?"

The table was silent for a time before Reinhardt raised his hand. "It is very possible that given how spread apart these points are that the Reaper will slip through, no? We cannot guarantee that he will just happen to walk through where we are stationed." There were a few murmurs of agreement through the team and Hanzo crossed his arms. It was sound logic. While it was clear that the Reaper worked for Talon, he was a rogue agent that kept to himself. It meant he wouldn't have backup or support when he was finally cornered, but the odds of finding one man in such a vast desert were not only daunting, it was near impossible.

The Soldier widened his stance. "A contingency plan will be utilized if no sighting has been reported within two weeks. The Reaper remains in the shadows, but he _can_ be drawn out. I would prefer to only use this as a last resort." 

The whispers died down and Winston glanced around expectantly, looking for any other takers. After a few seconds, McCree stood, his palms flat against the table as he stared the Soldier down. "I gotta question. Where the hell does this leave you if the twelve of us are shippin' out?" 

All eyes were drawn back to the Soldier who just glared (presumably) at McCree. "That information is  _classified,"_ he said gruffly, his stance stiff. 

The cowboy pursed his lips and then smiled sardonically, tipping his hat as he sat back down. When everyone was silent again, Winston cleared his throat and said, "Ok, the Tecate Team will be Tracer, Reinhardt, and Ana. The Lukeville Team is Lúcio, Zarya, and Mei." He pointed to each of the members in question. "The Nogales Team is Hanzo, Symmetra, and McCree."

Hanzo glanced to the two in question. Symmetra raised an eyebrow at Winston while McCree just snorted and lowered the brim of his hat over his eyes. 

"Lastly, the San Luis Team is Pharah, Mercy, and D.Va." The Soldier finished for the scientist. "Departures will be set this afternoon. Disguises and fake IDs will be handed out prior. Be ready by 18:00." With that, the Soldier turned on his heel and marched out of the room. Winston exhaled and nodded. 

"Hotels and safehouses have already been booked." He gestured to Symmetra, "I will need your assistance, Ms. Vaswani." 

Pushing her bowl of porridge away, the Architech nodded and gracefully stood, following her fellow scientist out of the kitchen. There was an awkward air after the door closed behind them, only interrupted by a loud belch from D.Va. "Well I think I'm gonna go back to the stream before we go on our big camping trip." She took her plate and tossed it into the sink before heading out. That broke the dam and everyone began to disperse. 

Hanzo made to stand, but before he could get very far, he felt a mechanical hand tug on his sleeve. "McCree?" he asked. The cowboy exhaled and shook his head. Hanzo raised an eyebrow and Jesse just smiled, though the expression didn't reach his eyes.  

"Looks like you'll be gettin' some cowboy duds after all."


	4. A mas honor, mas dolor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio sets out for their grand adventure.

Most of the team had been restless as they packed their needed gear and were given their new fake identities for their stakeout. Personalized clothing was exchanged for more common disguises of jeans and T-shirts with a few exceptions such as McCree's hat. In lieu of preparation, Hanzo had gone to Genji's room half an hour before their departure, a small tray of tea in hand.

They sat on the floor, staring at each other in companionable silent for a while as their drinks cooled enough to safely drink. "You will do fine, Hanzo," Genji murmured, breaking the ice as he rubbed his thumb over the rim of his cup. "You always do."

Hanzo exhaled, digging his fingers into his metal kneecaps. This would be the first mission that they were separated since Hanzo had joined Overwatch. He had come to make amends, to rebuild the bridges that he had so willingly burned. And now... "If anything happens-" he began, only for Genji to hold up his free hand, effectively interrupting him.

"I appreciate your concern, anija. But focus your energy on the mission at hand." He lifted the visor to drink his tea, briefly revealing his horribly scarred face. Hanzo nodded and picked up his own cup, taking a drink. The tea was bitter, but welcome and wonderfully warm. Genji cleared his throat and added, "I advise that you stay close to McCree. This is his home after all."

_"I'm from Santa Fe...but I've blown through Nogales enough times to lose count."_

Hanzo swallowed and said, "I trust that he is knowledgeable enough." He stared into his tea cup and frowned. "I am more concerned about what will happen should we actually find the Reaper." 

Genji chewed his lip. "Yes. I am as well. The video footage of his assault on headquarters was…terrifying to say the least.”

Indeed. Hanzo had watched the video multiple times, studying the ghostly assassin’s attack pattern. It was clear that the Reaper stealth training, a skill only magnified by his ability to turn to smoke. Then the fact that his body was capable of duel-wielding massive shotguns. 76 had said that was due to the experimentations at SEP, but seeing someone shoot like that and barely be affected by the kick-back…

“You need to stay alert as well. If the Reaper has any intelligence on our movements, he might make an attempt on the base while the number of staff present is reduced,” Hanzo murmured. Genji smiled and chuckled, though the sound was rather weak.

“We shall not allow our defenses to slip in your absence.” He reached over and touched Hanzo’s arm, applying gentle pressure to the crook of his elbow. “Bring me back something from your travels. Preferably something sweet.”

Smiling, Hanzo nodded and stood, sliding out of his brother’s grip. Genji began the process of cleaning up the cups, his metal fingers clinking against the ceramic. It was a chore that was calming in its familiarity.

He turned away from Genji and started toward the exit. He hesitated as Athena’s sensors activated, sliding the door open. _“Muri shinaide,”_ he called.

Genji stood, holding the tray of cups in both hands. He snorted and waved Hanzo off.

_“Wakateru. Daijoubu dayo.”_

* * *

The bus ride was quiet, most of the passengers asleep or tapping away on their phones. The glare from the headlights cast the driver’s bored reflection in the windshield as they sped through the empty highway. Hanzo’s gaze drifted to McCree who was dressed down from his normal get-up, almost casual if not for the Stetson still resting over his shaggy hair.

He was still not used to seeing the man sans his beard.

Vaswani sat on the aisle seat, her eyes occasionally falling closed as she fought sleep. Clearly a losing battle as she slumped slightly into the cowboy’s shoulder. McCree sighed and took his blanket, gently pulling it up over her body.

“Still can’t sleep?” McCree whispered to the archer, his breath stale and stinking of his last cigarillo from the bus stop.

Hanzo shrugged. “If I could not rest back at the base, what makes you think I will rest on a moving vehicle?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the rumbling engine. He looked over the outline of the other man’s broad body, “You have been quiet since this morning.”

McCree nodded and he closed his eyes, cracking his neck. “Jus’ don’t got much to say.” He yawned, his face so much more angular without the scruff to soften it. Hanzo nodded and turned back to the window, his own reflection somewhat distorted by the starlight streaming in through the glass. "Hey Shimada, I've been meanin' to ask you somethin'."

"What?" Hanzo asked closing his eyes and focusing on the thrum of the wheels below them. The cowboy chuckled, the motion barely registering against Hanzo's shoulder. 

"I heard a rumor..." McCree began. "-that your dragons got _names._ " 

Snorting, Hanzo opened one eye, turning to glare at the other man. "All the Shimada dragons have names," he said quietly. "Mine are no exception."

McCree let out a sound that could best be described as a giggle and he said, "Well rumor has it that yours are called _Udon_ and _Soba_." At Hanzo's flinch, he quickly amended with, "Hey, don't shoot the messenger, pardner."

"My dragons are not  _noodles_ ," Hanzo huffed as McCree struggled to stifle his laughter into his left shoulder. "Who told you this?"

The cowboy shook his head repeatedly, the bullets in the band of his hat clinking slightly with the motion. "Nah, nah. I ain't 'bout to let you skewer someone on the end of your bow. Just figured I would ask's all." He grinned and then adjusted his brim. "Alright then, what are their names then if you don't mind my curiosity."

Hanzo pursed his lips, touching over his arm which was hidden under his long sleeved shirt. "For a long time they did not trust me with their names. In fact...I did not know their identities until I left Shimada Castle.."

"Wait, they don't just tell you?" McCree asked. Hanzo shook his head.

"They speak only when they deem you worthy of the effort. They allowed me to summon them and direct their power, they did not let me know them until I began to know myself." He leaned back in his seat, pressing both palms down onto his thighs. "They call themselves  _Mari_  and  _Nori_. Rebellion and Law." Hanzo smiled and said, "Sisters who are known to conflict throughout the ages."

The first time he had summoned the sisters was when he was little more than 12. They danced together so beautifully, Mari trying to escape Nori’s careful watch while Nori worked to keep her sibling in line. A balance of two forces that created a storm all their own.

McCree raised an eyebrow. " _Sisters?_  So your dragons are ladies then?" He removed his hat, pressing the brim to his chest. "Well then, I best mind my manners round them. Don't want them thinkin' I ain't anything less than a perfect gentleman." That brought a muffled chuckle out of the archer and McCree grinned. "So what's the name of Genji's dragon?"

" _Hiro,_ " Hanzo said. "Genji said that he learned his name when he studied under his... _master_." He remembered when he saw Genji summon his dragon during their fight at their family compound. Part of him had recognized the beast, but he had been so sure of Genji's demise that he had refused to believe it could be the same. "Hiro is quiet. That is what Genji tells me. He prefers to listen."

"Guessin' yours are a talkative bunch?" 

Hanzo rolled his eyes. "They tend to argue among themselves. When they are not lecturing me."

In fact, he used to think that perhaps that they would have better suited Genji. His brother's outgoing attitude and sociability would have meshed well with the sisters while Hiro's calming nature was a reflection of his own personality. But over the years he realized that Genji did not need someone to talk to, he needed someone to  _listen_. 

And Hanzo...he needed someone to fill the void Genji's loss had left behind. There were many years where he had no human interaction, only the conversations with his dragons to keep him company. 

"Siblings will do that or so I've heard," McCree said with a nod. "I wouldn't know. Only child." He indicated himself and added, "Still, I imagine they've got a lot of cool stuff to say, them bein' immortal spirit bein's and all. They tell you all the secrets of the universe yet?"

The archer smiled and yawned, rolling over to face away from the cowboy.

"If they had such secrets to tell, I doubt they would entrust them to me." 

* * *

It wasn’t until early in the morning that they finally got off the bus, their bags loosely gripped as they shuffled into the gas station for breakfast. Hanzo winced as McCree grabbed some paper coffee cups and headed to the dispensers. Vaswani was tiredly rubbing her eyes and staring at a stack of smiling saguaro bobbleheads with wide colorful sombreros along the cashier’s counter. Her expression quickly changed to one of pure disgust when she saw the lollipops with real scorpions embedded in the sugar.

“Here, gotta fuel up,” McCree shoved the cups into their hands and then added some cheap looking burritos from a heated glass cabinet. He paid for their impromptu breakfast and they left to go and eat their wares outside.

Hanzo picked at the burrito, frowning as liquid beans spilled out of the limp tortilla. “How much longer until we reach our destination?” he asked, forcing himself to take a bite. It was…bland for a lack of a better word. By far not the worst thing he had eaten, and at least it was warm.

“We’re at our destination,” Vaswani murmured. “Albeit on the outskirts of the city.” She took a bite of her own burrito before folding the wrapper back over it in quiet dismissal.

McCree shrugged, eating his gas-station burrito without issue. “Winston said we’re gonna be holdin’ up on the Tortoiseshell Ranch for the next two weeks.” He swallowed and took a long draw on his coffee, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Gonna be tourists tryin’ out the life as a farmhand. So y’all-“ he pointed to the architect and the archer, “-need to best act like you wanna be there.”

Hanzo sighed and said, “So…shall we be quizzed on the filmography of Mr. Eastwood?” That drew a hoot of laughter from the cowboy and Hanzo’s lips curled at the corners, going back to his poor excuse for a breakfast.

“Nah. But I reckon it’ll help if y’all wipe the stinkeyes off your faces.”

Vaswani stood, sweeping her long beautiful hair out of her face and depositing the burrito into a fly-covered trash-can. “We will need to get a lay of the ranch’s perimeter as soon as possible. All escape routes should be accounted for as well as all potential entries should the Reaper come to us.”

McCree leaned back on his hands and nodded. “Course. You got teleporters ready?” Vaswani nodded and indicated her bag.

“Each team has three teleporters. Three short range, one long range. The long range is defaulted to return us to headquarters, but if necessary, we can travel to the other units once a connection has been established.” She rubbed at the circles under his eyes and Hanzo wondered if this was what she and Winston had been discussing prior to their departure. “Hanzo, you and McCree will get one of the short ranged teleporters. When we determine the most defensible position inside the ranch, I will set the coordinates to take you there should you have the need.”

Whistling, McCree said, “Always wondered when you were gonna let me try one of those out. What if that spot is compromised though? We gotta have a Plan B, lil’ missy.” He finished his burrito and crumpled the wrapper. With a calculated throw, the waxy plastic landed into the can, briefly scattering the buzzing flies.

Vaswani blinked at the nickname before she cleared her throat. “Somewhere in town then. We can decide later.” She walked back over and picked up her bag, shouldering it. Jesse stood as well, dusting the ass of his jeans off before offering a hand to the archer. Hanzo took it, allowing the larger man to pull him up to stand, half of his breakfast still in hand.

“How are we getting to the ranch?” he asked, tossing what remained of the burrito and following McCree as the man went to the street, his backpack slung over his metal arm carelessly.

The cowboy grinned, the expression somewhat crooked as he focused on the road. “I’m on it, Shimada.” He held out his arm and stuck his thumb up in the air, hailing to various vehicles rumbling down the street. Hanzo raised an eyebrow and watched as a few cars passed, only for a large rusted blue truck to pull up beside the grinning gunslinger.

The window rolled down and a young blonde woman with aviators stared down her nose at them. McCree gave her his widest smile and said, “Well, _howdy_ miss! Would you mind givin’ us a lift? We’re tryin’ to head out to Tortoiseshell Ranch and I’m ‘fraid our ride ditched us at the gas station.”

McCree had always had an accent, but the drawl had been deepened significantly. Jesse sounded almost…cartoonish at least to the archer. However the woman just gave a playful snort and jerked her thumb at the back and said, “Ain’t that far. I can get you to the main road, but you’re gonna have to go from there.”

Sweeping his hat off his head and bowing slightly, McCree said, “Well thank you kindly, _miss_ -“

“Shelby.”

“Miss Shelby,” McCree finished with a roguish wink. Shelby just shook her head, clearly amused and the cowboy headed around the back. Hanzo just stared, somewhat amazed that it had worked at all. Vaswani seemed equally confused and impressed, but neither of them said anything as they all loaded into the back of the truck with a large Doberman who didn’t even sit up to look at them. McCree gave the dog a gentle pat as the engine reeved and they started out into town.

Hanzo just watched as McCree lazily waved his hat back and forth in front of his face like a fan, whistling to himself.

It was in this moment that Hanzo wished he had brought his guitar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translations:  
> "Muri shinaide." = "Don't overdo it."  
> "Wakateru. Daijoubu dayo." = "I know. Don't worry about it."


	5. La perdiz por el pico se pierde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang starts their undercover vacation at the ranch. 
> 
> WARNING: Satya and McCree are pretending to be in a relationship. There are some scenes where Jesse is a bit handsy with her (all agreed on before the mission to keep their cover) and she is uncomfortable with being touched in such a familiar manner. This is not anything creepy and Jesse is making sure to give her warning with the tap signals before he does anything.

Hanzo had many preconceptions about what a Western style ranch would look like.

Somehow the fact that livestock would number not in the dozens, but in the hundreds slipped his mind.

“Whooee! That is some ripe manure right there!” McCree said, using his hat as a fan as they drove over the metal cattle guards. Vaswani was holding her nose as they passed the fields of cows and horses that just seemed to never end, the animals not even bothering to lift their heads in acknowledgement.

The truck stopped in front of the service road and they all clambered out, McCree giving one of his ever pleasant “Thank you kindly”s to their driver. She smiled and said, “Good luck with the city folks,” as she drove off, her dog barking excitedly at them from the back.

“City folks?” Vaswani asked with a raised brow. McCree chuckled.

“She meant you two.” He replaced his hat back on his head and sighed, glancing up to the large rusted metal sign that arched over the road.

Hanzo sighed and shouldered his bag, starting toward the largest of the buildings that he could see off into the distance. Before he could get further than a few feet, the doors to a barn opened and about 5 or 6 dogs ran out, all barking and baying as they ran a straight shot to them. Hanzo blinked and stopped in his tracks at the pack swarmed them, weaving between the three agents as they took in their scents and panted.

He reached out his hand to a black and white mutt, letting it sniff him before licking a stripe up the center of his palm. Hanzo smiled and scratched behind its floppy ears, watching as the animal obediently sat down, its tail wagging back and forth carelessly in the dirt.

In the background of the excited dogs, he could hear footsteps and a rapid back and forth of Spanish. Two men were walking out in full cowboy regalia similar to McCree’s normal gear. McCree glanced up from patting a chihuahua and started off at a short jog. “Howdy pardners! This here Tortoiseshell Ranch?” he asked as he neared them. Hanzo and Vaswani followed, the dogs herding them toward the ranch house.

“You the Jackson party?” the older of the two men asked, pulling at the graying hairs of his moustache. He looked to be maybe a few years Hanzo’s senior, but with a few extra pounds rounding out the middle of his thick denim overalls.

McCree nodded. “The name’s Mackenzie, but y’all just call me Mac.” Jesse offered his hand the older man took it with a firm shake. This here’s my fiancé, Miss Velma Saranyu.” He paused, winking. “soon-to-be Jackson.“

Both men tipped their hats respectfully to Vaswani who just nodded politely, sidling up to McCree and tentatively taking his hand in hers. She offered the two ranchers a smile that didn’t even come close to reaching her eyes, but that could always be excused for shyness.

Finally Jesse turned to Hanzo and said, “And this is Mr. Satoshi Harris. Good friend o’ mine.”

At the mention of his alias, Hanzo gave a curt, but respectful bow. “A pleasure to meet you.”

The older of the two grinned and said, “Well nice to meet you too. I’m Daniel Vasquez and this is my son-in-law Manolo.” He gestured to the younger man next to him who was tugging a pack of cigarettes out of his front pocket. “Welcome to Tortoiseshell.”

Jesse gave a low whistle as he looked over the ranch house. “Y’all got quite the speck of land out here.” He tapped Vaswani’s shoulder twice, their signal for when he was going to manhandle her a bit, and pressed his hand to her lower back. “My folks run a nice place out in Dallas, but nothin’ like this,” he began conversationally as he started up the road.

Hanzo followed the cowboy’s lead, the dogs eagerly trailing behind him with tails wagging high in the air. He couldn’t help but reach out to give an occasional pat, receiving a few licks for his trouble.

The ranch house was old style adobe brick and stucco, painted white to block out the worst of the Arizona heat. Several potted plants lined the brick porch, all in desperate need of watering. As they passed underneath the reflective shader, Hanzo caught sight of a rusted tin wind chime in the shape of a hunched man playing a long flute hanging over the dying plants.

Inside the house were almost no dividing walls. The kitchen just seemed to lead out to the living room and then then a set of cots lined with colorful woven blankets that were clearly intended for their use.

Daniel called out something in Spanish as they entered and a door off the living area opened, revealing a tall dark skinned woman with greying streaks in her long side-braid. She smiled at the sight of them and brushed her dusty hands off on the thighs of her jeans. “Mr. Jackson! So good to finally meet you.” She offered her hand and Jesse took it with a firm shake. “Yolanda Vasquez, owner of Tortoiseshell Ranch. I see my brother’s already getting you settled in.”

“Nice to finally pin faces to names.” McCree tipped his hat and Yolanda dropped her hand back to her large belt buckle that rivaled McCree’s own massive accessory. “I’ve been tellin’ Velma that there ain’t nothing more satisfyin’ than cuttin’ your spurs out on a proper ranch."

Yolanda’s smile widened and she said, “You certainly look like a regular _vaquero_ yourself Mr. Jackson. You ever do a season?”

Jesse shrugged. “I worked a bit for my folks, but they got their regulars. Sides, my girl’s a class act. She’ll put up with the hat and accent, but she’s gotta be in the city, right darlin’?”

Vaswani gave a nod and took McCree’s hand. Hanzo resisted the urge to snort as she said, “Mackenzie wanted to teach me to ride a horse before we move to Cincinnati.”

Perhaps they should have had her go over her cover-story a few more times back at base. Hanzo exhaled, covering his exasperation as exhaustion as he shifted his bag to the opposite shoulder. Yolanda took notice and said, “Why don’t you all put your things down and wash up. Don’t imagine that bus ride from Texas was all too pleasant.”

Jesse laughed and leaned back, tapping his boot against the red clay tiles. “Sounds like a plan, ma’am.”

* * *

Dinner was lively with Jesse offering his help in the kitchen to Manolo as Daniel organized the ranch hands into setting up the wooden picnic table out in the yard. Vaswani had asked for a tour of the other buildings from Yolanda, no doubt scoping the area for the best locations for their teleporters.

“Satoshi, could you feed the hounds?”

Hanzo glanced up, seeing Manolo offering a bowl of ground raw beef. “They get fed outside. You’ll see the bowls. If any of them are being rowdy, say _siéntate_.”

Taking the bowl, Hanzo opened the back screen-door and left the steamy kitchen. The massive table had already been adorned with a large emerald green table cloth and a cooler of various beers. The shader was also lit, casting a warm glow over the set up as the ranch hands took the plates out.

Before he could take another step, the dogs clambered up to him, whining as they stared up at him with pleading expressions. He gave a sharp whistle and then walked over to the collection of mismatched bowls lined underneath the kitchen window. The dogs lined up, sitting down and wagging their tails excitedly as he spooned out some meat in each bowl, giving a little extra to the larger dogs. They waited until he was done before they all dove in, their teeth clacking against the ceramic as they eagerly scraped along their dishes.

“You drink cerveza, Satoshi?” Daniel asked, cracking his back noisily as the ranch hands marched inside, their spurs jangling. When Hanzo nodded, he walked over to the cooler and tossed the archer a can. It was a cheap brand and no doubt had an alcohol content equivalent of a soda, but Hanzo bowed his head in appreciation and popped the tab.

Only to immediately regret it as he tipped the drink into his mouth.

There were many things to like about America: the food, the cities, the people.

Their beer, not so much.

Daniel chuckled and straightened his overalls. “Yeah, I don’t like Bud much myself.” Nevertheless, he opened a can and sat down at the table, his legs splayed wide. “So what brings you out here with the honeymooners?” He gestured to the kitchen where McCree’s silhouette stood planted over the stove, animatedly chatting with Manolo as they stirred a pot of beans.

Hanzo cleared his throat and set the beer can on the window sill. “I have known Velma and Mackenzie since before they were engaged,” he said, remembering the cover story they had cooked up back at the base. “We have taken many trips together in the past…and this may be the last one before they are wed.” He made sure to put on a somber expression, slouching against the side of the house.

Snorting, Daniel tipped back his beer again and nodded. “Well that’s awfully nice of you. I dunno how I’d feel about being such a third wheel.” He laughed and crushed the empty can, tossing it into a green bin by the dogs who had long since finished their dinner and were now licking the bowls clean of any blood and grease.

Hanzo shrugged and finished his own beer with some reluctance. Behind him the door opened and McCree came out with a cloth covered basket in his metal hand. “Satoshi! Manny taught me how to make tortillas!” he said with a glowing smile, thrusting the basket out proudly.

Hanzo lifted his hand to cover his mouth and the smile that threatened to peek out. McCree had made tortillas last week at base when they first landed in the desert. Something about “settin’ the stage” for a good Western.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Hanzo teased, “Keep that up and they might not let you leave the kitchen.”

McCree’s eyes crinkled at the secret joke and he placed the basket down on top of the table. “Aw shucks, if only.” He turned and grinned, opening his arms. “There’s my sweet honeybee!” He jogged over to Vaswani and Yolanda who were returning from the stables, his fingertaps quick as he hooked his arm around her waist. “How’d the tour go, darlin’?”

Vaswani leaned into his grip, but still kept a few inches between them. “Yolanda was kind enough to show me how to feed the horses. They are beautiful creatures.”

McCree grinned and tapped her again before he kissed her cheek. “Sounds like a grand ‘ol time. Maybe tomorrow we’ll be gettin’ to hit the trails.” Vaswani made a face as the cowboy’s prickly stubble tickled her cheek and she firmly pushed him away. To anyone none the wiser, it almost appeared playful in nature.

The cowboy did back off though, settling for simply holding her at the waist with his metal arm as they walked back to the table.

A few minutes later, the rest of the food was brought out to the massive table spread. An old plastic radio was tuned to some obscure country rock station, however music could barely be heard over the din of conversations passing over the table as beans and shredded pork were slapped onto corn tortillas.

There was a flurry of Spanish among the ranch hands and they all mocked McCree as he over-enunciated the words. “Hey now, ain’t my fault I’m a green-go son-of-a-bitch,” he said as Manolo handed him another beer.

Hanzo laughed, remembering the conversation he’d had when McCree back at the base under the cover of night and a delicate Spanish tune.

_“I ain’t **actin’** ”_

McCree was high-caliber, that much was clear. Charismatic enough as the loveable fool and smart enough to play to people’s expectations.

He would have done well as a Shimada agent.

Through the laughter, Yolanda slammed a bottle down on the table, making some of the plates rattle. “You ever try _Patrón_ , Jackson.”

All the ranch hands whooped and McCree stood, adjusting the waistband of his jeans around his sturdy hips. “Well I reckon that tequila ain’t much stronger than a good bourbon.” He lifted the brim of his hat in challenge. “Satoshi, wanna get in on this action?”

Hanzo blinked as suddenly all eyes were on him. He gave a relax shrug and Daniel passed out three scratched shot glasses. Yolanda poured out three portions and offered the last one to Vaswani who politely declined with a raised palm.

“Suit yourself,” she said, gesturing for Hanzo to stand. The three of them took their glasses and clinked. _"Salud!"_ Yolanda said before drinking. Hanzo caught McCree’s subtle wink as he downed his shot as well, his adam’s apple bobbing with the motion.

Hanzo licked his lips and turned his attention to his own drink, tossing it back with a flip of his bangs.

Together, they slammed their glasses down on the wood, McCree giving a hoot that carried over to the rest of the table. Hanzo smirked and licked the sharp almost sweet tang of agave off his lips. Yolanda refilled their glasses with an impressed smile. "Not bad, _gringo_. Not bad."

Jesse laughed from his belly, taking the next round of shots as easily as the first. 

In the distance, Hanzo could hear the coyotes howling as the moon rose over the wave of mountains. Closing his eyes, he swallowed another mouthful of tequila as the crowd cheered. 


	6. La verdad a medias es mentira verdadera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I still give a shit about this story somehow. XD So here's an update!

_“And oh Suzanna, oh don’t you cry for me. Cuz I come from Alabama, with a banjo on my, yes a banjo on my-“_

McCree took a pregnant pause as he strummed the old guitar dramatically. Hanzo laughed, sloshing his beer on the porch steps as he watched the cowboy struggle to draw out the last cords.

“Knee,” Vaswani finished plainly, her own beverage largely untouched, but still carefully cradled in her mechanical hand.

McCree placed his hand flat against the soundboard and whined, “You need to go out with more of a bang, darlin’!” He went back to strumming, his fingers flicking inelegantly across the worn strings. “Like this.” He keened his head back, exposing his heavy adam’s apple and knocking his hat off in the process. “With a banjo on my _kneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!_ ”

Hanzo winced at the high note of the man’s normally deep timber, but the smile didn’t disappear from his face. Instead, he reached over, stealing the cowboy’s Stetson and thumbing over the brim as he stared out at the quiet desert hills.

The moon had been out for several hours now and the party had gone their separate ways with the ranch hands retiring to their guest house while Yolanda and her family cleaned up the tables. During the dinner, McCree had discovered an acoustic guitar painted a blinding yellow and insisted on “serenading” his fiancé under the moonlight.

That serenade consisted of mostly ancient folk songs that were barely good when they were written, but Vaswani seemed glad for the excuse to get away from the large group of strangers.

“Hey, tryin’ to steal my hat, pardner?”

Hanzo glanced up, seeing McCree’s mechanical hand outstretched. The archer snorted and then placed the well-loved hat over his own head. Even after eating what amounted to a truckload of Mexican-American cuisine, he could still feel the burn of tequila pleasantly humming away in his stomach. “It is my turn to be the cowboy.” He gave a round of finger-guns and blew the ‘smoke’ off the barrel.

McCree raised an eyebrow and then chuckled. “Does that mean I get the cool dragons now?” He raised his mechanical arm and lowered the guitar to his lap.

“Only if you are deemed worthy,” Hanzo said with a smirk as Vaswani took the guitar from McCree and began to strum. Her motions were clearly practiced and her grip assured as she played an unfamiliar tune, choosing not to sing along with whatever song she had chosen.

“You play mighty fine, Ms. Satya,” McCree said, tapping his boot to the beat. The movement woke one of the dogs that was resting its head in Jesse’s lap and the cowboy gave it an apologetic pat as the animal startled.

Vaswani glanced back up to the cowboy, but her eyes didn’t quite meet his. This was the longest Hanzo had ever been in her presence and it was only now that he was noticing that she always seemed to be looking at a spot just behind whoever she was talking to. “Musical instruments are commonly used in limb and appendage rehabilitation,” she explained, her mechanical fingers working over the neck of the guitar, far more gentle than metal had any right to be.

As she continued to play, Hanzo stared out at the mountains lit bright by the moon and stars. It was easy to see how a criminal could hide out in these quiet border towns. What cities the South boasted were not lacking for people, but they were spread so few and far between with miles of treacherous desert to trek through. Then again, the landscape was just as much a hindrance to a fugitive as it was a help.

The heat of the summer was close to unbearable even without the sun shining overhead. With the dry air and no natural water sources, anyone who was unfamiliar with the land could easily succumb to heat stroke and dehydration.

But the Reaper…he had made the Southwest his base away from Talon’s outposts. 76 had been tailing him through Dorado for months, but the former commander only ever found traces of the terrorist’s presence.

_What sort of fool chases a shadow through the desert during high noon?_

“Everythin’ alright, pardner?”

McCree’s voice drew him from his musing and Hanzo just exhaled, removing the hat and thumbing the fabric. He offered it back to the cowboy who took it and placed it back over his head. “I am just…concerned with the mission.”

“There is only so much we can plan for,” Vaswani said, not pausing her playing. “All major risks to our safety and that of the surrounding area have been accounted for, however until we know exactly what we face, I cannot say for certain that we will have any chance of success.”

“I agree,” Jesse said, clapping a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “No sense in frettin’ when we don’t even know if we’re gonna find anything out here. Way I see it, we’re gonna pass these two weeks out on the ranch and then come back to the Watchpoint to regroup. Reaper ain’t gonna show his face unless there’s somethin’ worth comin’ out into the open for.”

Hanzo frowned. “You do not think that he has any motivations of his own?” he asked, leaning back and petting one of the larger dogs that had joined them on the porch. “I cannot imagine that he is completely loyal to Talon’s operations. They are merely…convenient to him for the moment.”

Above them, the kokopelli wind-chime spun in the warm night air, the tin tinkling eerily in the quiet night. McCree exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck with his metal hand. “Honestly, I’m not too sure. If it’s really Reyes under the mask like Jack suspects, then that really complicates everythin’. Him and Jack weren’t doin’ too good near the end, but after everythin’ in Geneva…” he trailed off and bit his lip. “Part of me is just hopin’ he really did die in Switzerland. Think it’d be for the best.”

His dark eyes grew hooded and Hanzo turned away, lazily carding his hand through the thick and dusty belly fur of the dozing mutt beside him.

“This Reyes had similar training and physical enhancements to Soldier,” Vaswani said, “I have watched the security tapes of the attack on Winston prior to Overwatch’s Recall and the Reaper displayed intimate knowledge of Overwatch’s security systems. More importantly, when Athena scanned him, he had the exact body measurements as your former commander.” She stopped her playing and stood, staring up at the wind chime before touching over the rusted metal with her mechanical fingers. “Normal humans cannot have such muscle density and weight proportions naturally so there is over a 97% probability that we are in fact hunting down Gabriel Reyes.”

The mood that had once been slightly drunk and jovial immediately soured and no one spoke for quite some time. Vaswani was the first to break the silence, taking the guitar and the abandoned beer bottles back inside with a polite, “Goodnight,” leaving the two men out on the porch.

McCree huffed and rubbed over his stubbled chin. “ _Fuck_ …” he said, standing and digging in the back of his jeans for his cigarillos. The lighter fell from his pocket and Hanzo picked it up, flicking the wheel of flint so that it caught as Jesse put the cigarillo into his mouth. “Thanks, pardner.” He took a few puffs and then leaned against one of the support posts, his shoulders slumped and head bowed.

Slowly, Hanzo stood as well, careful of the dogs surrounding them as he approached the cowboy. “This man was important to you,” he stated, staring out into the saguaro-pocked hills. “Your relationship goes beyond commander and soldier.”

“Heh, you could say that…” McCree said, his tone bitter. He pulled the cigarillo from his lips and said, “Reyes was like…he was like _family_. My pa got shot when I was a kid and my ma and her folks raised me, but after Deadlock, I had nothin’ to come home to. Burned too many bridges…” he sighed, shaking his head. “Reyes took one look at my scrawny ass and saw things that none of the school counselors or student mentors ever could.”

Nodding, Hanzo looked down at the lighter still in his hand. It was Blackwatch issue, with the old cow skull logo scratched and worn from years of continued use. “It is not easy to go against family,” he said, giving a half-hearted smile at best. “I have personal experience in the matter so…I would know.”

McCree chuckled, coughing a bit from the smoke in his throat. “Yeah, suppose you do. Still don’t get how Genji was able to let go of all his hate, but I’m glad he has. Hatin’ you didn’t make him any happier, didn’t replace all that he’d lost. Lovin’ you, well that’s brought him some peace of mind and given us a helluva sniper.”

Grinning at the compliment, Hanzo said, “I was not just referring to Genji. I abandoned my entire family after our duel. I destroyed many of the agreements between rival clans, stole from their accounts, hacked into the security networks, and rerouted their supplies. I led a one-man revolution against them.” He bit his lip, “It did little to assuage my guilt, but it kept me from losing myself. It gave me purpose.”

“Think that’s what Reyes is tryin’ to do with dismantlin’ Overwatch? Lookin’ for a purpose?” McCree asked with a raised brow. Hanzo shrugged. He did not know the man personally. He could not make any assumptions based on his character or his motivations.

It was not his place.

The cowboy took another few puffs on his cigarillo in absence of anything else to say. “You know, I think I always knew the Reaper was Reyes, but I've just been up to my ass in denial. Especially since Jack was so convinced it was him.”

“Your dislike of the former Overwatch Commander has been duly noted,” Hanzo said with a snort. “I am assuming that when Reyes and Morrison disagreed, you sided with Reyes?”

McCree stiffened next to him and then relaxed, leaning more heavily on the beam. “Sort of. It’s a lot more complicated than that.” He knelt to stub out the cigarillo and clipped the end to save for later. “It don’t really make for good conversation.”

“Try me,” Hanzo said in a firm voice, turning to look McCree in the eye. The other man blinked and then pocketed the case of cigarillos. He looked at Hanzo expectantly until the archer realized he was still in possession of the cowboy’s lighter. That was a good a dismissal as any so with a frown, Hanzo handed it back, their fingers brushing.

“Thank you kindly,” McCree said as he pocketed the lighter and tugged his jeans higher up on his hips. He exhaled a last smoke-tinged breath and added, “Should probably head inside. Need to get some sleep if we’re gonna be doin’ touristy cowboy shit all day tomorrow. They might have you throw a few ropes at a post.”

Hanzo allowed him to change the subject and followed him back to the door. “Do you know how to throw a lasso?”

That earned him a snort that turned into a full-belly chuckle carefully hidden in McCree’s arm. “I don’t think I could even tie the damn honda…” he admitted as they stepped back inside, careful to make sure the door didn’t close with a slam or rustle.

None of the dogs piled on the porch even stirred.


End file.
